


A Final Lesson

by BattleAxesofRohan



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:15:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26196979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BattleAxesofRohan/pseuds/BattleAxesofRohan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	A Final Lesson

<https://www.deviantart.com/rhapsodybrd/art/Theoden-s-final-battle-cry-853603121>

Snowmane moved cautiously under him. Used to the smell of death and blood, the horse’s nerves matched his own as Théoden observed the massed horde of orcs before his riders. The walls of Minas Tirith rose down his right flank, siege and missile weapons from both man and orc arching towards each other. In all his years, in all the battles fought and wars won, Théoden had never witnessed a gathering of warriors such as this. He recalled a time from his youth, his first command.

The sounds of the fire crackled as the leg turned on the spit. Fat sizzled and dripped as the cool night air flowed through Théoden’s hair. Sigwérd sat across from him, sharpening his spear as a few other riders sat around the cooking fire. There were nearly a dozen such fires, a total of seventy riders preparing for battle the next day.

“Are you ready for the morning Prince Théoden?” Sigwérd asked as he finished putting the edge on the spear. This would be Théoden’s first command. It should, in theory be a relatively straight forward battle. Dunlending raiders had attacked a small settlement in the West Mark and were making their way towards the Fords of Isen. Théoden’s outriders and scouts had located the raiders and the Riders had tracked for two days to reach this unassuming patch of open plains. In the morning Théoden’s forces would attack a foe that numbered little more than a hundred.

“They’re Dunlendings,” Théoden replied, “I will be shocked if they even have the wherewithal to recognize our attack as it happens. Most of them will probably be too their cups tonight to offer much resistance.” Théoden flashed what he believed to be a wolfish grin. Sigwérd’s face darkened as the rest of Théoden’s guard around the fire quieted.

“Regardless of who they are, this is still a battle.” Sigwérd began slowly. “These riders are going into battle under your direction. They’re going to fight and some of them are not going to go home tomorrow - ”

“If the Dunlendings put up enough resistance to injury any of us, then that Dunlending deserves some sort of medal” Théoden laughed. The others joined in his chuckle as Sigwérd lowered the spear behind him. As the laughs quieted Sigwérd’s expression remained dark. Reaching forward Sigwérd cut a piece of the leg and tasted it.

“Young prince, never underestimate your foe. Regardless of who they are, or what weapons or strategy you use, any foe can defeat you if there is not a plan set. What is your plan?”

Théoden sighed loudly. Why was Sigwérd so worried? Yes, the Dunlendings had a numerical advantage but they were Riders of Rohan. Nothing short of the Dark Lord himself could stand up to their calvary charge. These raiders would break and flee as soon as battle was engaged. Shaking his head Théoden answered.

“Very well then, Rider of Thengel. Tonight, we sleep and sharpen our blades. Just before dawn breaks, I will take thirty riders and charge the enemy encampment from the clove of trees directly east of their camp. Cynhárd will take his twenty riders and attack the enemy encampment from the south, coming over the hills. Finally, Wúlfsige will charge from the north west as we engage the enemy, cutting off their retreat and closing the rope around them. It will be a brief and bloody fight but the Dunlendings will be eliminated, any hostages freed, and we will begin to return to Edoras to celebrate.” The riders within ear shot cheered. Yet still Sigwérd looked on without smiling.

“And what if the Dunlendings have set up guards? Alarms? Or if they expect us to attack what if they have erected defen –“

“Enough Sigwérd. Come now, do you not trust my men’s resolve and capability to over come these barbarians?” Théoden was becoming angered at Sigwérd’s continued question of him. Did Sigwérd not understand that one day Théoden would be king? What if anything was Sigwérd trying to prove here? Shaking his head, Théoden spoke up.

“We all know you were sent here by my father Sigwérd. That you are here to judge and protect me in my first leadership role. However, this is not the first battle I have fought. You and many other have trained me in leadership and in combat for years now. So why I ask are you challenging and questioning me on this, the eve of our victory?” Théoden glared across the fire. He would not have his leadership challenged by anyone, regardless if they were one of his troops or one of his father’s guard.

Sigwérd for his part did not lower his gaze from Théoden’s eyes. Yes it was true, Théoden was not a new recruit he had seen battles before. However, the last command he had was of a small unit.

“Théoden, overall command is very different from commanding your own unit. Your orders will need to be simple enough that your unit leaders can execute them but detailed enough so that everyone understands when and where they need to be. How long should Wúlfsige withhold his charge? When should Cynhárd set out to get into position? What is the signal to attack? What is your back up plan should as you ride out, you find the Dunlendings have set up sentries or have spread out to make it harder to encircle them?”

Théoden paused. It is true, he had not considered the final question. Cynhárd was to set out a quarter hour ahead of them to be in position. Every rider knew the sound of the war horn to charge. Wúlfsige knew to wait until he heard the ringing of steel before engaging. Yet if the Dunlendings spread out to make the charge less effective?

“They’re Dunlendings, Sigwérd” Théoden laughed with what he hoped was confidence. “If they spread their camp out then we have more than enough riders to ensure that take them apart piecemeal.” The other riders looked between their prince and the king’s rider. Many of their faces had darkened. Sigwérd sighed and rose to address the assembled riders.

“Riders of Rohan lend me your ears. This evening, feast on the meat our scouts acquired. Drink and make joy and merry. For on the morrow we have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat. The ground will shake and tremble as our horses break the dew. The small bird’s song will be joined by battle horn and war cry. Our foe has stolen from us. They have stolen our people, they have stolen our peoples’ lives, their joy, and left them with naught but pain, and fear, and sorrow. On the morrow we repay that pain, with steel. We return that fear, with terror. And we will turn the sorrow, into hope. Hope for our lands to flourish. Hope for our people to grow old. Hope for us to live. We are the chosen company. We happy few. We lucky few. Let songs and stories be told of tomorrow. Let those of us who are called away to ride the eternal plains remember us. Let the rest of us remember them, and ensure they are remembered. Sharpen your steel, and fill you bellies. To you, Riders of Rohan!”

As Sigwérd sat the feeling of the camp changed. The edge that had been building without Théoden noticing had died. The riders were more relaxed, comfortable, and confident. The riders around his own campfire had loosened. They spoke to each other, toasted, and laughed. Théoden looked down. What he had been trying to accomplish with his boasts and bravado for the last few days, Sigwérd had accomplished in only a few moments of speech. How? What did Sigwérd have that he lacked.

“The only difference, my prince, is that I’ve been in your position before. Experience is the only gap between us,” Sigwérd said, as he sat beside Théoden. “You are a good leader. The men would have followed you simply because you ordered them to. Your guards would have fought hard along side you. The rest of the company must know though, that you are with them. Every rider here feels the same things. Fear, worry, dread. What if they don’t come home? What happens if the Dunlendings are prepared? It is not to you to try and make them believe, oh they won’t be ready for our attack. A leader must turn their minds away from the fear they see in the now, to see what can be in the future.”

Théoden nodded. He would need to learn.

“How did you know what to say?” Théoden asked. Sigwérd paused as he gazed into the fire.

“I didn’t know. I thought and looked at my own feelings. I imagined every single rider here felt exactly like I did. So, I asked myself what I need to hear to quiet the fear and embolden my resolve. And as the words flowed, I thought about what made me become a rider. To protect the innocent. To become the avenge steel upon our enemies. To ensure that we as Rohirrim go on far into the future. And, should I fall, my story gets told. After that, the words came easily. Think about how you would motivate your own warriors at the individual unit level.”

Théoden thought about his last battle before assuming overall command. All twenty of the riders of his éored had been nervous and stressed. With twenty people he could not talk to everyone individually. So, when he talked to them as they rode towards battle, he started singing an old Rohirrim riding song, which let his riders focus and prepare themselves.

_Far over the hills, my darling she awaits_

_Far over the hills she is watching_

_I chose the trail dear and she’ll take a vow_

_And we’ll be true sweethearts forever_

_Red is the sun that rises this dark dawn_

_Heavy is the shield on my shoulder_

_Clear are my eyes that look towards the crown_

_Of the hill which holds my lover_

_Charged down through the Mark our ponies did bring us_

_Where the spear and the sword they were clashing_

_The glinting of the steel reminded me of stars_

_That were trapped in her eyes forever_

_Red is the sun that sets over the Mark_

_Worn are our horses but heading_

_Back to the crown from which my love awaits_

_I’ll return once again and we’re smiling_

As Théoden started the song his riders joined in on the second stanza. How could Théoden use the same idea to now go from a small éored to a small host. The young prince had much to think about as dawn approached.

Before laying down for the night, Théoden called over Cynhárd and Wúlfsige and went over the plan once more. Wúlfsige would need to set out an hour ahead of the attack to ensure his men were in position. They were to attack when the third clarion had sounded. Looking over the maps again, Cynhárd would leave a quarter of an hour before Théoden and would charge with the first sounding of the war horn. Should the Dunlendings have some sort of defenses set up, Wúlfsige should engage upon hearing the horns call for Fire. The commanders understood, and broke to inform their subordinates. Sigwérd nodded to Théoden and went to rest for battle.

Wúlfsige and his men were ready to ride as Théoden finished donning his armor. He approached them, and gripped each warrior upon their sword arm, exchanging words of encouragement and thanks. He maintained his bravado and confidence that the Dunlendings would be an easy victory. After reaching the last rider, Wúlfsige set off.

Théoden walked back to his own mount, Gráscinnen and checked his saddle and kit. While the attendant had done a proper job as always, for Théoden this was partially ritualistic and allowed him to focus his mind on the tasks ahead. Outriders brought him reports as soon as he finished, the Dunlendings were still sleeping, they had few sentries so the attack could continue as planned. Cynhárd and his men mounted and after wishing the prince well and set off to their starting position. Sigwérd approached with his mount as Théoden finished loosening his sword arm.

“Ready my prince?”

“As I can be Sigwérd. I have a request of you today.”

“Your orders I am sworn to obey.”

“Ride on my left hand side. As we attack, I will rely some on your experience if adjustments need to be made quickly. On my left you will have a better view of the battlefield.” Sigwérd nodded, fist over his heart.

“As you will it.”

The cool morning dew mixed with the smell of horses in Théoden’s nostrils. He settled into the saddle Théoden found he was again most comfortable. Turning in his saddle, he raised his fist, signaling to move out. The thudding of hooves on wet ground and the clink of weapons and armor was barely noticeable as the singing of birds greeted their ears.

Winding the company’s way Théoden began to make the final approach. Just around this clove of trees, and then three hundred feet of open ground before they reached the Dunlendings camp. Théoden nodded to his guard, who raised the war horn to their lips. Raising his sword, as the horn began to sound Théoden cried out, “Ríp fortredingum!” and charged around the bend.

The mass war cry of his men and the sound of charging horses filled his ears. Before him, Dunlendings scattered, rushing towards tents and lean-tos. Looking left, Théoden saw Cynhárd and his men break the crest of the hill beginning their charge. Théoden felt a grin begin spreading on his face, however Sigwérd called out, “My lord! Incoming!”

Turning forward Théoden saw from the Dunlendings arrows begin to arc. They had set up some defensive structures, a low wall to trip or slow the horses. Looking around, Théoden began to feel his chest tighten. Darkness crept in from the corners of his vision and his breathing was difficult. How had they planned for this attack? The arrows reached their peak as another volley was fired.

“Shields, incoming!” a voice on his left cried out. Instinctively Théoden raised his shield arm and urged his mount to sprint even faster. The arrows rained down around them, he could hear riders and horses cry out in pain.

“Sound the call for Fire!” The war horn blew out the three note melody as loudly as possible. Théoden had lost sight of the forward goal. How close were the Dunlending defenses? 100 feet? 50 feet. The next barrage of arrows fell, more riders, more horses. Théoden risking it, looked up from behind his shield. And found himself no more than 20 feet from the Dunlending’s wall. Quickly reacting he leaned forward in the saddle and gripped the reins. Gráscinnen reacted by jumping the barrier.

Though, Théoden did now have to wonder why he was looking at the sky. Clouds drifted lazily across. The soft ground massaged his back. And then he saw the axe head falling towards him. Bringing his sword up he intercepted it by the shaft and shoved back. Swinging wide to force his opponent to step back Théoden regained his feet and his bearings.

The riders who had survived the arrow barrage, and there were more than Théoden had anticipated, had driven through the camp. Many Dunlendings lay unmoving of the floor. However, before he could take more in, the Dunlending before him charged, axe raised and war cry on his lips. Théoden took the blow off his shield and thrust out, driving the barbarian back. Without giving him a moment, Théoden lunged in, swinging up with his sword. The Dunlending blocked with the shaft of the axe however left himself open as Théoden drove forward his shield forcing the breath from barbarian’s lungs. As the man stumbled and faltered, Théoden brought his sword down in a vicious arc and the blade bit deeply into the side as blood poured liberally from the wound. The Dunlending collapsed as Théoden finished the barbarian with a thrust into their heart.

The sound of horse hooves pulled his attention as four riders from Wúlfsige’s company pulled their mounts to circle. Looking beyond he saw warriors engaged in combat, the ringing of steel and the braying of horses. Trudging forward Théoden moved into the sprawling tents and fires. Dunlending raiders charged and fell, Théoden himself catching blows off his shield and slaying enemies. He did not recall when his guard formed around him, Sigwérd on his shield. Though, they were outnumbered, and the arrows had taken a toll.

“My prince, we need to pull into the open,” Sigwérd called out. Looking around, Théoden had to agree. Their greatest advantage was their horses, fighting within the camp gave the Dunlendings numbers an upper hand. Théoden turned to his horn blower.

“Sound the recall, if we get passed that wall, we can use the open plains.” The horn sounded and riders began harassing the Dunlendings, allowing those on foot to get to the wall. Wúlfsige rode up, pulling Gráscinnen along behind him.

“Your mount my prince. If we make our way towards where me and my forces charged, it is open field and they won’t have the wall.” Théoden nodded and mounted. Turning towards Sigwérd, “Get those still on foot towards that position, I will lead those still mounted into the woods to prepare for a counter charge.” Sigwérd gave an affirmative and began ordered men towards the open plain.

Théoden turned in the saddle setting out with Wúlfsige. There were maybe twenty of his riders still on their horses. They began to form up around him as they rode a curtain of dirt between the Dunlendings and their own forces. Wúlfsige drew a hand axe from his saddle and flung it into a barbarian who tried to move through their lines. Several of their mounted troops began using hand axes to keep the Dunlendings back.

“Move to the tress,” Théoden called out, “we can take cover and Sigwérd has broken out into the field!” Turning his horse, he could hear the riders urge their mounts to a gallop, passing their ground forces. The tree line was a hundred feet ahead, looking back Sigwérd was forming the warriors into a shield wall. The Dunlendings were almost upon them, several pulling up short and preparing a volley of arrows. Théoden wheeled his horse, sword arm raised into the air and charged, screaming “ _Forth Eorlingas!”_

The sounds of the horses was drowned out as the riders took up the call. Several Dunlendings slowed and hesitated. Arrows flew, with no drive or aim as their archers faltered. Théoden’s riders charged passed the shield wall, swords and spears thrusting and swinging. The lightning strike of the charge split the barbarian’s mob, those not cut down from riders were caught in the rushing infantry. Théoden’s charge wheeled after crashing through the archers, splitting the columns into two lines, Wúlfsige leading the left hand.

Looking back Théoden was glad to see that a majority of the Dunlendings were in the field currently engaging his men. Pushing his mount forward, he slashed, the sword reflecting harsh sunlight as it drew blood and screams. They made several passes until finally the last of the Dunlendings had fled or had been slain. Looking around, Théoden finally felt his ears open again and sound poured in.

Mixed among the groans of the wounded and the sound of birds, exhaustion pushed into him like a spear tip. Physically Théoden was certain he could go on longer, however his judgement was beginning to cloud. Deciding that it would be far better to be seated in case of feinting, he dismounted. Sitting on the ground, his arms thrown over knees, Théoden looked at the sight before him. A dead but still twitching Dunlending lay before him, at the feet of the barbarian lay a splintered shield of Rohan, an arm still within its straps. The image burned itself into his mind. Sigwérd approached Théoden, a water skin in his hand.

“Drink my prince. You’ll feel better.” Théoden gratefully accepted, drinking nearly half of the skin in a single pull. Looking up to Sigwérd, Théoden exhaled and finally let the tension out of his shoulders.

“Sigwérd, did we make a mistake? We should have sent more scouts, we should have done –“

“My prince if I may speak plainly to you?” Théoden nodded.

“Could you have truly planned for the barricade? Or the archers? Could you have predicted that would happen? No. Simple answer there was no way you could have accounted for all those factors. All you could do was have a fall back plan on which your plan could be changed quickly. It was unexpected, you adjusted accordingly and did what you were able to. Nothing else could have been done.”

Théoden looked forward again. True, he doubted that his father could have prepared any better for that attack. Though still, there were many more green cloaks on lying on the ground than he would want. Granted, he would have preferred none of his riders had fallen in battle. If he were honest, he would have ultimately wished for the end of these random Dunlending raids that had plagued his people for generations.

“How many of us are still standing?”

“Unsure as of yet sire. But Wúlfsige’s forces are intact as they took the camp from the rear. Your company took most of the arrow fire during the initial charge and were the first to make contact with the camp. Oh, sir.” Sigwérd’s head turned to look behind him.

A group of his warriors approached. The lead rider stepped to the side and between them all was a small group of captured Rohirrim. The closest of them, a young woman just entering adulthood fell to her knees as Théoden rose. All of the rest followed suit as he stepped around his horse.

“My lord, thank you. You’ve saved us from a fate worse than death. Who knows what these raiders would have done to us,” she kept her eyes downcast. Théoden reached towards Sigwérd, “get a few more water skins and some dried meats,” before turning back towards the rescued villagers.

“We’ll provide you with some food and water as well. From which village were you taken?”

“We were taken from Alton in the West Mark your lordship.” Théoden consulted Sigwérd and they determined that the company could pass through the village and drop off these villagers there. Speaking more with the civilians several of Wúlfsige’s warriors took them away from the battlefield to have some food and drink. The rest finished finding and either recovering their own dead and wounded and granting mercy to the wounded Dunlendings. Wúlfsige rode up to Théoden as he approached the area where most of his riders were gathering.

“My lord. All of the riders have been accounted for.”

“How many did we lose?”

“Twenty-one are on the eternal plains. Of the rest, most are wounded but we have enough horses for each man to make it back. There might also be enough for some of the villagers to ride alone.”

“Very well, let us bind up as many of the serious wounds as we can and then we will move out. It is going to be a long ride back to Edoras. Have those who are able collect water from the stream where we camped last night.” Wúlfsige clanged a fist over his heart and rode back to the company. Théoden followed, walking among the wounded.

“It’s a hard scratch but you’ll pull through”

“Now that will make a scar worthy of a tale around the fires, eh?”

“Men have come back from deeper wounds than that, let him get it wrapped up and we’ll get you to a healer.” As he passed by one of the wounded lying prone, a hand reached out, gripping his hand tightly. Looking down into the eyes of a young warrior, Théoden watched as the pupils dilated wide and the voice speak in a deep baritone.

“Heed this Théoden, Son of Thengel and future Lord of the Mark. The eye begins to turn. Within your life evil will rise, darkness will grow, and light will become dim. Be wary of those around you and do not listen to only one voice. Look for the one with winged foot for he will lead us to victory.” Théoden was startled and shaken to his core. What had happened? What was this. The warrior let out a deep exhale, their eyes closing.

“Rider. Rider who are you?” Théoden asked, shaking the man’s shoulder. His eyes opened slowly.

“My, lord? My name is Ásc my lord. Is, is everything alright?” the soft voice rose. Looking him up and down Théoden thought this man cannot be more than just over eighteen, or maybe even nineteen summers. Théoden put his other hand atop the warriors, gripping his hand with both.

“Everything will be ok Ásc. You don’t look too bad; you’ll heal up nicely. We will get those wounds bound tight and you back in the saddle. Just rest for a bit, we’re moving out soon.” Ásc nodded, closing his eyes again as his breathing steadied. Théoden rose, and walked among the twenty-one cloaks draped in three rows of seven.

“Thank you, men. Because of your sacrifices and bravery, we were able to rescue several captured villagers. Because of your strength and determination, we are able to push on and return home. The pain you felt before has left, the worries of life have been taken from you. We, your brothers, and your family will miss you and mourn you. Ride true on the never-ending plains, and keep a watch fire lit for us, so when it is our time, we can join you.” Théoden brought his fist up, clenching it over his heart as he held the salute for twenty-one breaths. Lowering his fist, he nodded to the waiting warriors who began binding the cloaks to the forms beneath for secured transport on horseback.

As he mounted Gráscinnen, Théoden looked back and the remains of the Dunlending camp. At the splintered shields upon the ground. At the barrier they had tried to erect to stop his charge. He thought about the ferocity and savagery the Dunlendings and his own men had fought with. How close he himself had come with death. How close every warrior on this battlefield had come with death. And how many had death embraced. There was a lesson to learn from every battle. Sometimes, the lesson can only be taught to the dead. Looking back as he began to lead his remain soldiers away, Théoden contemplated what lesson he was being taught here. When would this lesson sink in; he wondered to himself.

Seated upon Snowmane, looking over the mass assembled orcs Théoden came to understand the very important lesson that first command had been trying to teach him. As his eyes track the hordes, he saw that while any plan may be solid, you must prepare for the unthinkable. And today, Théoden felt more like the Dunlendings, erecting a barricade to slow and dismount his riders. He bent in the saddle, placing a hand over his face. Shoulders shaking, Théoden laughed. The Witch King of Angmar had not anticipated this. His forces were disarray and were moving in an attempt to put spears between themselves and the Rohirrim.

And yet, hope seemed lost. Here on the fields of Pelennor, before the walls of Minas Tirith was a host of orcs that out numbered the riders easily twenty to one. Beyond them, the dark grey shapes of Mûmakil strode ominously towards the walls. The walls were breached in several places and Théoden could see orcs within the walls as the defenders tried valiantly to hold the line. How could he inspire his men to fight harder? How could he find a way to convince every rider with him to fight with the strength of ten? As he contemplated, old Sigwérd’s words rang from his memory.

“ _Hope for our lands to flourish. Hope for our people to grow old. Hope for us to live. We are the chosen company. We happy few. We lucky few. Let songs and stories be told of tomorrow. Let those of us who are called away to ride the eternal plains remember us. Let the rest of us remember them, and ensure they are remembered_.”

“Old friend, how I could use your council now.” Théoden muttered to himself. The marshals of the mark were checking the lines, raising banners, and preparing horns. The broken weapons littered the ground. Osgiliath was over run. The black fleet was making its way towards them now. We happy few, Théoden thought. We lucky few to stand here at the precipice of the world. A chance to save the world of man and cast evil down one final time. Light glinted up to his eyes.

Looking towards Minas Tirith, Theoden gasped. A bright flame had appeared upon the tallest point. The flame fell towards the walls, disappearing as it fell from sight. And then from the pinnacle, another light. Bright and brilliant white, pure in nature shone. Its brightness dispelling the encroaching shadows. Hope. Hope for a future for the world of man. As the lights intensity increased, Theoden felt something flow through his chest, followed by a resonating _boom_.

At that sound the bent shape of the king sprang suddenly erect. Tall and proud he seemed again; and rising in his stirrups he cried in a loud voice, more clear than any there had ever heard a mortal man achieve before.

_Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!_

_Fell deeds awake: Fire and slaughter!_

_Spear shall be shaken, shield shall be splintered_

_A sword day, a red day, ere the sun rises!_

_Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!_


End file.
